A voice retorted with the shrillness and mechanical violence of
occasional housewives. The girl swished her skirts defiantly and
returned to the window.

Upon the yellow streak of road that lay across the hillside there now
was a handful of black dots--horsemen. A cloud of dust floated away. The
girl flew to the head of the stairs and whirled down into the kitchen.

"They're coming! They're coming!"

It was as if she had cried "Fire!" Her mother had been peeling potatoes
while seated comfortably at the table. She sprang to her feet. "No--it
can't be--how you know it's them--where?" The stubby knife fell from her
hand, and two or three curls of potato skin dropped from her apron to
the floor.

The girl turned and dashed upstairs. Her mother followed, gasping for
breath, and yet contriving to fill the air with questions, reproach, and
remonstrance. The girl was already at the window, eagerly pointing.
"There! There! See 'em! See 'em!"

Rushing to the window, the mother scanned for an instant the road on
the hill. She crouched back with a groan. "It's them, sure as the world!
It's them!" She waved her hands in despairing gestures.

The black dots vanished into the wood. The girl at the window was
quivering and her eyes were shining like water when the sun flashes.
"Hush! They're in the woods! They'll be here directly." She bent down
and intently watched the green archway whence the road emerged. "Hush!